The Captain
by HP-Forever-XX
Summary: Entry for Quidditch Leauge Fanfiction Competition, Season 7, Round 7—Angelina is the newly appointed Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and the former holder of the title, Oliver Wood, reaches out to her in order to share some of the secrets to his success. But is there an ulterior motive to this meeting lying beneath the surface?


**Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition Season 7—Round 7**

**Team: **Holyhead Harpies  
**Position: **Captain  
**Task: **Write about someone in charge of something/someone

**Word Count:** 1,935

* * *

**The Captain**

"Oliver!" Angelina could barely contain her squeal of delight as she saw the unmistakeable broad silhouette of her former team member and Captain.

The stocky brunette turned his head in the direction of the squeal, eyes lighting up at that familiar voice. "Angelina," he breathed in his thick Scottish accent, almost a sigh of relief. He opened his arms to embrace her and she fell gladly into him.

"You look great," she insisted, positively beaming. Merlin, it really was good to see him. She wondered if he could sense the troubled storm raging beneath her sunny exterior.

"As do you," Oliver praised. He offered a charming wink. "Captain." He, too, wondered if she could possibly sense the unease that stirred within his stomach at being so close to his old life once more.

Over-exaggerated smiles plastered on both of their faces, the two old friends settled into a secluded booth in the corner of the pub.

"God, I've missed it here," Oliver said, breathing in his surroundings—the solid oak of the furniture, the gentle chatter of magical folk, the tinkling of glasses, the sweet scent of liquor.

"The Three Broomsticks?" Angelina asked playfully. "I thought you were always too busy training to pop in on Hogsmeade weekends."

Oliver gently shook his head with a reminiscent smile on his face. "I meant _here_," he insisted. "Hogsmeade. Hogwarts. _Scotland._"

Angelina opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted by a waitress. She ordered two steaming Butterbeers, perfect to warm them up on that chilly afternoon in late September, before turning her attention back to the boy she'd missed so dearly. "So how is life outside of Hogwarts?" she enquired.

Oliver absentmindedly tapped his fingers against the solid wooden table. "Great," he insisted. "Really, really great. I mean—not that I don't miss it," he added quickly.

"Of course," Angelina laughed. "Who wouldn't!"

She wondered if he could sense her unease behind those words. Neither let their smiles falter.

"And how is Puddlemere United, Mr big shot?" Angelina practically squealed. "Mr _professional league team Quidditch player!"_

Oliver glanced down, humbled but bashful. "I haven't actually _played_ yet, you know, so let's not get ahead of ourselves. And there's no guarantee I'll ever actually make it to the pitch; I'm just training as a reserve at the moment."

"But even so," Angelina insisted, "that's huge, Oliver! You're signed by a real, professional Quidditch team at only nineteen. This is your dream!"

They were briefly interrupted as their Butterbeers arrived, and Oliver was grateful. He appreciated Angelina's enthusiasm, but he didn't want to speak about Puddlemere. That wasn't why he'd reached out to her and asked to meet him at the first possible Hogsmeade weekend. She had eagerly obliged, but truth be told, was a little confused herself.

It wasn't like Oliver and Angelina hadn't been close, but their friendship had purely centred around Quidditch. They were no closer than the entire team had been. Angelina had excitedly written to him the instant she'd been made Quidditch Captain for the Gryffindor team but was surprised when he wrote back asking her to meet as soon as possible.

"Cheers," Oliver offered, raising his steaming goblet to Angelina. She clinked hers against his, and the two sipped in a suddenly uncomfortable silence.

Now that the pleasantries had been exchanged, Angelina wasn't sure how to proceed. It wasn't like her and the Scot had much in common outside of Quidditch. She searched for a different topic of conversation but fell short. Eventually she said, "So, err, what's the training regime like?" at the same time as Oliver abruptly asked, "So who's on the new team?"

They both awkwardly apologised to the other, but it was Oliver who insistently raised his question once more, Angelina's words lying unanswered.

She listed the new recruits, Oliver nodding along in approval. He gave especially firm nods at Harry Potter and the Weasley twins' names and felt his heart skip a beat as Katie Bell's name left Angelina's lips. He took a deep gulp of Butterbeer to suppress it.

"I, uh, that's actually why I wanted to meet," Oliver announced. He started rummaging around in a well-worn backpack she'd only just noticed he'd brought along with him.

Angelina cocked her head inquisitively.

"I saved all my game strategies and categorised them in these folders."

Angelina was gobsmacked as Oliver began pulling out several bound folders stuffed with overflowing reams of parchment.

"There are magazine clippings and articles," he excitedly showed her, "all the way back from the seventies! I saved them all—as many as I could find in old shops and stuff, and I've added notes and diagrams about how you could update them to adapt to the newer broomstick models." He heaved open another folder. "These are profiles for _all_ the most notable Quidditch players, not even limited to the UK. I've listed their strengths, weaknesses, interesting abilities, iconic moves—you can compare their stats and broomsticks to the players on your team and play around with a few different techniques based on previous success."

Another folder was spread before the unsuspecting girl.

"Game plans, strategies, old training schedules," Oliver ploughed on, turning page after page. "These are notes from _every_ single game we played as a team. Well, since I was on the team." He began listing on his fingers. "Analysis of what we did well, what we could have done better, how we need to adapt to unexpected weather, or distractions, or high wind-speeds—"

Angelina suddenly snatched one of the folders towards her after seeing her name untidily scrawled across a curling bit of parchment. "Angelina: Great speed but inaccurate passing technique," she read aloud. Oliver tried to snatch it back, looking nervous, but Angelina held tight. "Missed a few easy shots due to inability to recognise opportune time to pass the Quaffle to teammates. Ball hog." She glared at him, a leonine fierceness in her eyes. "_Ball hog!"_ she spat.

Oliver laughed uneasily and slipped the folder back towards him. "Angelina, this was one of your very first games, you hadn't, uh, _developed_ as an adept Chaser just yet."

Angelina raised her eyebrows, aghast, and opened her mouth to protest.

"But I saw a lot of potential!" Oliver insisted before she had the chance to retaliate. "That's why I _chose_ you. And look!" he exclaimed, raising a hand to indicate to her. "Now you're Captain!"

Angelina pursed her lips, mildly appeased, but the fire still burned in her eyes. "Oliver, what is this all about?" she asked suspiciously. She gestured to the open folders strewn across the table. "All… this?"

Oliver innocently blinked. "I don't, uh, I don't know what you mean," he mumbled, taking another swig of his almost entirely drained goblet. "I just wanted to help."

"And I appreciate that," Angelina assured him sincerely. "But… Oliver, with all due respect… this is _my_ team now. _I'm_ the Captain, and I'll form my own strategies based on _my_ team members. This is impressive," she said, picking up a loose piece of parchment. "Truly. But I think I'll much prefer to play it by ear. You know… to _live _it."

Oliver just sat in stunned silence for a while. "I just thought—most of the team is the same—I _know_ how they work, I _know_ how to bring out the best of everyone's abilities, I can help—"

"Oliver!" Angelina interrupted. "What is wrong? Seriously? What is this _about? _You are _not _the Captain anymore! I am!"

The Scottish boy reached for his goblet and had raised it to his lips before realising it was empty. He placed it back onto the table with an unsteady hand, suddenly unable to look her in the eyes.

Angelina noticed this and reached out a friendly hand across the table. "Oliver, is everything okay?" she asked softly. "Puddlemere…?" she prompted.

Oliver raised his eyes to meet her concerned gaze. "It's hard, Angelina," he admitted in a shaky breath. "Puddlemere… It's not like Gryffindor. It's not like Hogwarts. I'm not"—he gulped—"_anything_. Nothing special, anyway. I'm not the Captain, I'm not even a real player; I'm just a reserve. Nobody values me, nobody respects me. I'm just—"

"Oh, Oliver," Angelina said softly, her heart reaching out to the boy. "Of course it's different. This is _professional_ _Quidditch_," she reminded him. "Not some silly school team."

Oliver looked positively offended at the notion.

Angelina just rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean. I love Quidditch just as much as you, I love Gryffindor, and I love _winning_. But do you know what I love more?"

Oliver just shook his head.

"My _team_," Angelina answered. "My friends. We could lose every damn game, we could make a million different strategies, we could train twenty-four hours a day, but at the end of the day it doesn't mean a damn thing if I'm not having the time of my life with the people I care about most in the world. And I think,"—she offered him a reassuring smile—"you just haven't found that yet. In Puddlemere. But you _will_. I truly believe that. There's a place for you there, Oliver, you just need to connect more with your team members. You feel lost at the moment, and you're trying to relive your time as Gryffindor Captain because you were in control back then, and you felt _needed._ But you have to remember that you're still young; you're still new to the team. You can't try and live in the past or you'll never feel comfortable in your present. And you _will_," she insisted. "I've never seen you give up."

Oliver Wood would deny it in later times, but he felt a tear well up in the corner of his eye. There were no words. Angelina had voiced every worry he had been too afraid to admit to himself, but she was right, and he'd needed to hear it. He hastily wiped the tear away and offered the warmest of smiles to his former teammate.

"You'll make a great Captain, Angelina," he said sincerely.

"Well," Angelina replied coyly, "I learnt from the best."

The two Gryffindors beamed at each other, and all in all Angelina was glad Oliver had reached out to her in this way. It was reassuring to be reunited with a familiar face from a time much less troubling. Things not only at Hogwarts but throughout the entire wizarding world were uncertain. She did not trust this new 'Umbridge' woman in the slightest, and Angelina really wasn't sure about the rumours about You-Know-Who coming back…

Oliver squeezed Angelina's hand, and she was suddenly whisked back to reality. "So anyway," he said with a cheeky grin. "How are the Weasley boys treating you?"

Angelina didn't trust that grin. "What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Well, I mean, they did always have a bit of a crush on you; I wondered if you were handling it professionally and not letting their flirty charm bias you during training," he said wickedly.

"Ha!" Angelina scoffed. "Oh, you're a fine one to talk about flirting during training, Oliver Wood!"

"What?" Oliver feigned surprise. "What do you mean?"

Angelina smiled a patronisingly sweet smile. "Katie misses you too," was all she said.

Oliver didn't think his smile would ever drop, or his stomach ever un-twist. "Well," he said pleasantly, ignoring her comment, and raising his empty goblet, "cheers to the new Gryffindor Quidditch Captain. May she exceed the former holder of the title in success, passion, and most of all, fun."

Angelina raised her empty goblet too. "Cheers."


End file.
